


Location, location, location

by bob_fish



Series: Wrong Turn 'verse [28]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M, misuse of a desk, procrastination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:39:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bob_fish/pseuds/bob_fish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Procrastination is awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Location, location, location

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seaweed_fma](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=seaweed_fma).



"Twelve goddamn hours in this office," said Rebecca. "I deserve a raise. I deserve several raises." She flopped her head down over her typewriter and groaned theatrically.

" _I_ deserve a raise," said Havoc. "Okay, this survey has about a half hour left in it before my last drop of patience goes. After that, it's either done, or I drop it in the trash, light it on fire, and pop wheelies around it while it burns."

"A half hour?" said Rebecca, raising her head a little. "I guess you'll want to get that finished up, then."

It was late in the office. They were alone in the office, bored, with diminishing attention spans. The outcome was kind of inevitable.

Two minutes later, two typewriters lay abandoned while Rebecca sat curled in Havoc's lap, one hand in his hair and one hand feeling his chest up under his jacket as they kissed almost breathlessly. Havoc, meanwhile, was attempting to get both hands under Rebecca's sweater. Their elbows kept knocking.

"Okay," said Havoc, in a moment when his mouth was briefly unoccupied. "So, where may I take you tonight? Feel like going somewhere new? We've done the supply closet, the meeting room table, your desk, my desk, Falman's desk ..."

"Poor Falman," said Rebecca. "I feel kind of bad about that. Oh well, that's what he gets for leaving it all uncluttered."

"The office sofa," Havoc continued, "the officers' bathrooms ... damn, we did those. Where haven't we done?"

"Wait," said Rebecca, wriggling in his lap. "No. That can't be it! Have we done all of the places?"

"We spend too much time in the office," Havoc sighed. "What about my car?"

"We've done your car. Like, four times."

"Well, you know, it is my _car_."

"Where else ... oh my god, do you think we can get into the Fuhrer's office?"

Havoc wrinkled his nose. "I'm not third-basing anywhere Bradley might have third-based. Besides, have you seen inside that place? They've got it sealed up, it's all dusty, it's spooky."

"When you put it like that," Rebecca said, nodding. "Wait. Oh my god. Okay, I think we have a winner." Slowly, she jerked her thumb at Mustang's office.

Havoc wheeled them both towards the half-empty office door. Slowly, they both put their heads on one side to peer around it. "The Chief's desk," Havoc mused. Would this violate any articles of the Bro Code? No, fuck it, it would be hilarious. He reached a hand out and pushed the door. It creaked slowly open.

Mustang had cleared his papers away, or had them cleared for him, at the end of the day. There the desk stood: shiny and polished and tempting, and now that Havoc thought of it, the absolute perfect height for -

"You realise," Rebecca said, "that now we thought of this, we absolutely have to do it?"

"Those _are_ the rules," said Havoc. "Right, Captain Catalina. Lose the uniform pants, lose the panties, up on the desk."

"Yes, sir, Captain Havoc, sir!" He wasn't sure how she managed to execute such a crisp salute while hopping around the room pulling her boots off. Still, like most things about Rebecca, it was pretty impressive.


End file.
